WASHINGTON MAGAZINE | SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1995 | FEATURE Addicted to a Flying Disc Visit Frisbee aficionado Ralph Williamson. A small black and white sign above the entrance to Ralph Williamson's basement reads "Frisbee Museum: Plasticus Addictus." It was a birthday present from his wife, who obviously understands his passion for those familiar flying discs. Williamson lives in a modest split-level home tucked neatly into a hilly Seattle neighborhood just east of Sandpoint Way. Here, covering makeshift tables, swaying from homemade ceiling racks and shelved in perfect rows along the walls, is one of the largest known Frisbee collections in the world. Williamson says the largest sadly remains boxed up at a collector's home. Williamson has more than 4,200 discs in his collection, each with a handwritten number on the back. Each number is linked to a computer database, which lists every Frisbee in his collection by manufacturer, model number, description and weight to the nearest gram. His obsession began at a church picnic in 1969 at Matthews Beach Park, a few blocks from his present home. "Some kids were throwing one around and I asked to try it," he recalls, speaking in the Texas drawl that's somehow managed to survive 30 years of living in the Northwest. "I threw it and it wouldn't work, even after 15 or 20 tries. But I got hooked, and I've been with it ever since." At the Frisbee Museum, metal pie plates are stacked on a rectangular table. "In 1871 in Bridgeport, Conn., the Frisbie Baking Co. starting baking their pies in metal pie plates. These later became toys; delivery drivers would throw them around for fun." But it wasn't until the mid- 1940s that Wham-O sought to mass produce a plastic version of the flying pie plates. The toy company was issued a misspelled patent and, because it was unable to correct the error, the trademark "Frisbee" was born. After almost three decades of collecting, Williamson's Frisbee museum boasts discs from around the world, including China, Japan, India and Russia. Each has its own story. "A friend on vacation in India found these in a toy shop," he says of two oddly shaped discs with triangular protrusions out the top. Some have high-pitched whistles, articulated tails or running lights. Others inflate, glow in the dark, launch from a catapult or fold up to pocket-size. A Styrofoam disc bears the familiar Rolling Stones tongue; it was picked up at a Stones concert 25 years ago. Another is fitted with a small marijuana pipe. The idea here is that the wind crossing the surface of the disc keeps the embers glowing. "A guy called me a few days ago for that one," Williamson says with a coy smile. "I sold him my second-to-last one for 50 bucks." Williamson is a retired Boeing technical writer and, at 64, is dedicated to the Frisbee life. He holds five world champion titles in professional disc golf, a sport that involves hurling small Frisbees into metal baskets. He practices with a local disc golf team four times a week and plans to attend at least 25 tournaments this year, including one in Japan. He writes for several Frisbee-related publications, 1,200 back issues of which he displays in the museum. Within a year he plans to complete his book, "The Encyclopedia of Flying Discs," which he's co-writing with a fellow Frisbee guru who lives in California. Most recently, Williamson began logging in to a flying disc electronic bulletin board, where he exchanges Frisbee-speak with Internet users around the world. With thousands of discs ranging in age, size, shape, value, design and materials, Ralph Williamson's Frisbee Museum has a Frisbee for everyone. Even his business card is printed on a Frisbee.